Blue Moon
by LadyMoonSilver
Summary: Some things only happen once in a blue moon. Like a bloody triple homicide and an actor turned sheriff with his own theory about what happened. Kinda/sorta based on fact. Probably got a little preachy along the way. Read and enjoy. Reviews welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Once again borrowing from the classics.

This story is kind of based on fact. Go ahead and Google "Wiccan Ritual Killing"

Feel free to Google "Wiccan Rede" and "The Charge of the Goddess".

"When God Was A Woman" is a real book, written by Merlin Stone, available both in print and in ebook.

Original characters exist only in my overactive imagination and I couldn't resist poking a little fun at actor's turned politicians.

Had to throw in a little gun porn. Reason: McGarrett would have a freaking arsenal at his house, just in case. It's what cops do.

Rhodesian Ridgebacks are the most awesome dogs on the planet.

A few bad words here and there and some gratuitous sex.

Ignorance is contagious, don't let it happen to you...

Reviews welcome.

* * *

The bodies were arranged in a crude semi-circle, face down on the blood soaked carpet inside a circle outlined in white powder, hands tied behind their backs. Candles burned on every available surface, making the room almost unbearably hot.

There was blood everywhere. Blunt force trauma would do that. It didn't help that the throats of all the victims had been cut.

Upside down stars were drawn on the wall in what appeared to be the victim's blood.

McGarrett stepped around the bodies, trying his best to avoid stepping in the puddles of blood that soaked the carpet. The coppery scent of too much blood didn't mix well with the smell of the candles. Whatever was burning in the small cauldron set up in the center of the circle was making his eyes water. He'd seen some strange things in his years as the commander of Five-O. This was the strangest.

"Danno," he asked, "What in the hell have we got?"

"Damned if I know," Danny replied, looking grim. "This is the first time I've ever seen anything like this."

"That makes two of us. Anything?"

"HCSO was called in to do a welfare check when the son failed to show up for work or school yesterday and today. House is owned by one Charles Hobson, Caucasian, mid sixties. He lived here with his adult son. The neighbors say they were quiet people, kept to themselves, but always polite and helpful. Dad was semi retired; son was in his late twenties, worked as a part time security guard and was going to college. No one seems to know who the female is, and so far no ID either. We're trying to get positive ID's on all the bodies, only that's proving a little difficult due to blunt force trauma. The ME says he's going to have to use fingerprints and dental records. He's estimating time of death sometime Tuesday night."

"Get Che in here and tell him to bag everything, and I mean everything. If he can't bag it, dust it. What's with the circle on the floor and the rest of the, hell, I don't even know what to call it."

"The sheriff thinks it's some sort of ritualistic killing. He says there's some sort of witchcraft and occult angle. Specifically, he's saying it's a Wiccan death ritual tied in with the blue moon that's coming up."

McGarret gave the room an intense look, his storm blue eyes missing nothing. "Danno," he said, "Wiccan's didn't do this."

* * *

McGarrett and Williams watched as the bodies were removed by the ME's office. A crowd of neighbors had gathered, along with news vans and print journalists who had heard the roll out on their police scanners. Sheriff Augustus Murphy was doing what he did best, pressing the flesh and playing to the crowd in his custom tailored uniform.

Williams had bummed a cigarette from a motor cop and was standing under a bougainvillea arbor, smoking, and glaring at Murphy.

"I thought you gave those things up years ago," McGarrett said.

"Today, I'm making an exception. His Majesty is having a good time."

"Getting his daily exercise in early, I see."

"Yep, running his mouth and jumping to conclusions."

It was obvious that neither of the Five-O detectives cared for Honolulu's recently elected sheriff. In the late '80's Augustus Murphy had been a semi successful television actor featured in a crime show about a Hawaiian surfer dude who solved any case presented to him, neatly tying up all the loose ends in the allotted hour of prime time and scoring with an abundance of bikini clad beach bunnies along the way. As a favor to the governor and the Board of Tourism, McGarrett had reluctantly agreed to let him spend time at Five-O offices for a few days in order to observe proper police procedure. It hadn't worked. He'd made himself a total nuisance, especially on the last day of the experiment when he'd shown up wearing tinted contact lenses the exact shade of blue as Danny's eyes. He then went on to fame as the Blue Eyed Surfer PI Sunny King. The show was on for five seasons, during which the surfing PI made every thinly disguised fictional law enforcement agency on the Island look like a pack of inept kindergarteners. Running on his popularity as an actor and his promise to 'shake things up' for local law enforcement, he'd gotten himself elected sheriff and had been a thorn in the side of every police officer and deputy sheriff in Honolulu since. The press loved him. He was always available and always good for a quote.

They listened as the sheriff made his statement. "There are definite elements of the occult involved. The bodies were laid out in a ritualistic fashion and there were other elements that point to witchcraft. What we're dealing with here is a Wiccan Death Ritual."

The reporters were eating it up as Murphy droned on, obviously in love with the sound of his own voice.

"He doesn't know any of that," Williams spat, disgusted. "The lab's not even done processing the crime scene and all the ME knows is blunt force trauma and cut throats. For all we know it's a drug deal gone bad."

"Or they had to listen to one too many Sheriff Murphy press conferences and decided to end it all. My god, that man's ignorance knows no bounds."

The sheriff finished his statement, reiterating that there would be a press conference at the sheriff's station later on that evening after the crime scene techs were done and in plenty of time to make the late news, promising he'd have all the information they needed by then.

McGarrett gave a disgusted grunt. Apparently Murphy was still laboring under the delusion of having a cadre of accommodating script writers at his beck and call.

The reporters spotted the two detectives standing under the bougainvillea and hurried over. Danny crushed out his cigarette and tried to look calm. Steve's jaw was clenched so tightly Danny was expecting to hear his teeth crack. Cameras and microphones were thrust in their faces. "Well, Mr. McGarrett, do you have anything to add to the sheriff's statement?" Mark Meyers asked, smirking.

"Not at this time," he said. "It's too early in the investigation to make any comment. So if you people will excuse us, we have work to do."

"Is it true that the crime committed was witchcraft related?"

"At this time the only thing I can tell you is that there are three bodies. Other than that, no comment."

"No exclusive for the _Stars and Stripes_ this time?"

McGarrett glared at Meyers. "I doubt it," he said, in a calm even voice that made it all the more dangerous. "This doesn't involve the military so I doubt they'll be interested." He stalked off, Danny following close behind.

They drove in silence to the morgue for a meeting with Doc Bergman and the recently deceased.

"I shouldn't let that fool get to me like that. If ignorance is bliss, he has to be the happiest man on the planet," Steve said, eventually.

"Which one, Meyers or Murphy?"

"Take your pick, they're damn near interchangeable."

"What's a 'Wiccan Death Ritual' anyway? I thought Wiccans were Goddess worshipping nature lovers who wouldn't hurt a fly. Murphy is way off base this time."

"This time he's so far off base he's not even in the ballpark."

"He's going to offend every pagan and Wiccan on this Rock when the word gets out."

"Big time. And I get to go home to one of them."

* * *

Chin and Kono met them at the morgue. The three bodies were laid out on gurneys, awaiting Doc Bergman's attention. He'd just stepped out to retrieve the x-rays of the victims skulls when McGarrett and Williams arrived.

Bergman returned, carrying the x-ray films and a blood pressure cuff.

"You can keep that thing away from me," McGarrett growled as he sighted the cuff.

"You wish. Sit down, take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve. I've got orders from a higher power. When I'm done we're going to have a round of guess the cause of death."

 _Higher power, indeed_ , Steve thought, removing his jacket and sitting down. No use arguing when the Little _Menehune_ had spoken. "Get it over with. I swear my blood pressure goes up every time you get near me with one of those things."

"Quiet," Bergman demanded. He pumped up the cuff and placed the end of the stethoscope just below the edge, on the vein at the bend in the elbow. After what seemed like an eternity, he loosened the cuff and looked up. "135 over 90. Better but still borderline high. Still getting headaches?"

"Only when I have to deal with Murphy," McGarrett answered, glaring at the rest of the Five-O staff, silently daring them to say a word.

"That man is a legend in his own mind. Bet you want to know which came first, the bludgeoning or the throat slitting."

"That could prove helpful."

"As it turns out, it's neither," Bergland started hanging the x-rays on the light boxes on the wall. "It's hard to find, but it's there if you know where to look." He crossed over to one of the horribly mutilated bodies, pulled back the sheet and turned the head to the left, exposing the area just behind the right ear.

Danny saw it first. "Just when you thought it couldn't get any stranger. I'd say small caliber firearm, a .22 or a .32, at point blank range."

"Yes," said Bergman. "One shot behind the ear at close range for all three of our guests here. Note the powder burns around the entry site. Throat slitting was next, done by a very sharp knife with a thin blade, followed by bludgeoning, probably with your garden variety claw hammer. I'll see if Che can match the wounds up to the type. Whoever did this wanted to make sure they were dead."

"Get the bullets to the lab as soon as you dig them out. What's the possibility of keeping Murphy in the dark about this?" Steve asked.

"I can probably get you about forty eight hours, and then he's going to know something is up. No, wait; this is Murphy we're talking about. Could get you another day, but that'd be stretching it."

"I'd appreciate that, Doc. That'll give Murphy enough time to make a complete ass of himself."

"I take it you're not buying the whole 'Wiccan death ritual' hypothesis?"

"I think we need to look for the obvious before we start chasing the occult. Kono, I know this has nothing to do with the Kahuna's or any other type of Hawaiian folklore or ritual but I want all bases covered. Ask around. Find out if this blue moon has any significance."

"Just another full moon is all I know. Suppose to be some good surf. From what I saw at the crime scene, ain't none of that Kahuna."

"I know it isn't, but do it anyway, maybe someone knows something we don't. Chin, check out the metaphysical shops. Find out what's going on with the pagan community."

"Will do. What exactly am I looking for?"

"Anything weird."

"At a metaphysical shop? Everything about them is weird."

"More weird than normal, then. Find out who the pagan community leaders are and see if they'll talk to us without a court order. That is if Murphy hasn't offended them so badly they're hexing us. Danno, find out everything there is to know about the Hobson family. I want the book. Work history, medical records, and financials, all of it. See if they had any enemies. Same for the woman as soon as we find out who she is. One shot behind the ear screams either professional hit or full blown psycho. Doc's buying us at least two days. Let's use 'em."

"Maybe you should go find one of those Wiccans and have a talk with them," Bergman suggested.

"That, Doc, won't be a problem."


	2. Chapter 2

It was after eight when he got home. He pulled into the driveway, parking the big Mercury Marquis next to Maggie's little yellow Mustang. He let himself into the house, smiling in anticipation. He had a very good idea where she would be. He could hear the water bubbling in the Jacuzzi. He took off his jacket and tie, left his holstered service revolver on the dresser, and followed the sound of running water. She was soaking in the tub, long silver hair coiled on top of her head, reading a book called " _When God Was A Woman_ ".

"Want some company?" he asked, eternally grateful that the _Stars and Stripes_ didn't have a police scanner in their newsroom and very seldom bothered with local news unless it directly affected the military.

"Get in the tub, Big Guy. You can scrub my back, or I can scrub yours. Or anything else you can think of." She had the mischievous little half smile that he'd come to love playing across her face.

He finished undressing and got into the tub beside her, the jets and hot water slowly washing away the tensions of the day. She tossed her book onto a shelf and moved closer to massage the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

"Baby, you are spoiling me," he said.

"That's the whole idea. How was your day?"

"Stranger than most. How did your meeting with the promotion board go?" He asked, changing the subject. He didn't want to think about dead bodies and crime scenes when she was so close.

"They offered me another stripe. If I want it," she said, frowning. "I've got until Monday morning to decide. I told them I'd have to think it over."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"I guess it depends on how you look at it. Four more years goes with it. During which I could be sent anywhere else in the world. I've got just over a year left. That'd mean five more years of uniforms and odd hours."

"No," he said, simply. "Enough is enough. You've given the Army enough of your life. They don't get any more. The rest is mine."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," he said, drawing her closer. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her softly and slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. The next few minutes became a tangle of slippery arms and legs that brought on a bout of laughter from both of them.

"I can see the headlines now," she said, giggling. "Commander of Five-O Drowns in Jacuzzi With Naked Woman!"

"Then you're going to have to spare my reputation and go to bed with me."

"I thought you'd never ask." She said, smiling, kissing him again.

* * *

Steve lay semi drowsing with Maggie's head resting on his shoulder, listening to the sound of the ocean coming in through the open doors. The sound of the surf and the soft ocean breezes worked miracles with the insomnia and nightmares that she'd brought back from the Gulf War. He knew it was a security risk but one he was willing to take if it kept her from waking up screaming in the middle of the night. He kept a loaded Colt 1911A1 semi-auto in the bedside table and a Mossburg 590A1 Tactical .12 gauge riot gun under the bed, just in case.

He moved closer to her, feeling the warmth of her soft curves and the way they fit so nicely against him. _Bergland needs to be here with that damned cuff_ , he thought, feeling at peace with the world.

Maggie kissed him softly on the cheek. "I'm going to get something to drink. Want anything?"

"Got everything I need right here," he said, kissing her back.

"Keep that up and neither of us is going to get any sleep tonight. I'll be right back." She got up and shrugged into a robe. He hoped that she would resist the urge to turn on the late news. He was feeling to content to want to deal with any fallout from the Surfing PI's latest press release. He closed his eyes and was drifting off to sleep when the phone rang.

"McGarrett," he said.

"You better turn on the TV," Williams said. "Murphy's done it this time."

From the living room came a very loud: "What! Steve, who is this moron?"

"It's already on." He hung up the phone, pulled on pajama pants and a tee shirt, and went into the living room to find a red faced and very angry woman.

Murphy was on the television, droning on about how poor misguided weak minded people with mental problems often fell victim to witch cults, all of which could eventually be traced back to Satanism and drug use. The presence of candles, incense, and pentacles drawn with the victims blood, as well as the ritually cut throats, were all indicative of a Wiccan Death Ritual done to coincide with the blue moon expected that weekend.

"Steve! None of that's right! That's total rubbish! There's no such thing as a Wiccan death ritual! Who is this idiot?" She was pacing the floor, her long silver hair streaming down her back. She had left her glasses back in the bedroom and her unfocused green eyes were flashing in anger. "Am I a poor misguided person with mental problems? Am I weak minded? Do I look like a drug addict? I don't even take the pain meds the docs prescribe! That idiot has got his head so far up his ass he's never going to see daylight again!"

When Maggie got angry, her language had a tendency to get colorful. She didn't do it very often, but when she did, it was time for whoever it was aimed at to back off. He looked around to see if there was anything heavy and throwable in the area. Not that he'd miss the TV that he very seldom turned on; he just didn't feel like cleaning up broken glass in the middle of the night.

"Easy, baby, settle down," he said, going to her and trying to put his arms around her. "I probably should have told you about this sooner, only I don't like bringing the bad stuff home, especially when you were all naked and sexy there in the tub."

"Don't even try that line, Big Guy! It's not going to work this time! Did you hear what the moron just said? He's going to start a crack down on pagan activity in Honolulu. Has that dimwit ever heard of the First Amendment?"

"Only if it was in a script. Honey, please, calm down. He has no idea what he's talking about. Che's not even done processing all the evidence we took from the crime scene. I know the murders had nothing to do with Wiccan's, pagans, or any other member of the metaphysical community." He tried to hold her, but she shook him off and continued pacing.

"This," she said, a little calmer but still angry, 'is the kind of ignorance that got over a million women burned at the stake a few centuries back, and nineteen women hung at Salem in 1792. This is the same kind of ignorance that gets people fired from their jobs, their security clearances pulled, and their kids taken away from them. What he's saying is pure poison, and all it's going to take is one religious zealot with a gun or a fire bomb and you're going to have more dead people on your hands. That man is a menace."

Steve picked up the remote and turned off the TV, silencing Murphy and wishing there was a Murphy specific one available that worked on former actors. "I know that, you know that, anyone with a functioning brain knows that. I'm still trying to figure out how he got elected to public office." He put a hand on her shoulder as she strode past, stopping her frantic pacing. This time she let him wrap her in his arms.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I know none of this is your fault. Can I ask you something? This is me asking as a Wiccan, not as a writer, or a soldier, or even your significant other. This is important, to me and to the rest of the pagan and metaphysical community. Can I see the crime scene photos? I can look at them and tell you if there is any Wiccan involvement."

He swallowed hard and held her tighter. She'd barely survived being injured in the Gulf War. She was in pain more than she would ever admit to and had a very bad case of PTSD. He wanted to protect her from anything that could bring up the bad memories and that included bloody crime scene photos. He silently called Murphy every bad name he could think of, and between the Navy and over 20 years in law enforcement, that was a lot.

He sighed, resigned. He needed a Wiccan to look at the photos anyway. Might as well be one he knew and trusted. "Can you drop by my office tomorrow around eleven? We can have lunch afterward. That is if you still feel like eating. It was… bad."

"I'll arrange it with the CO." She looked up into his stormy blue eyes, realizing not for the first time that he looked at bad things all the time. She shuddered and held him closer, feeling the warmth of his lean muscular body pressing against hers. "I shouldn't have overreacted. It's just that I can't stand ignorance in any form." She leaned against him, breathing in the sent of sandalwood and good soap. "I love you, Commander."

"I love you, too, Sergeant." It had become a habit with them, to address each other by rank when they were being serious. "It's a good thing you didn't see Murphy at the crime scene. If your reaction is any indication, tomorrow's going to be a very busy day. Time for bed, my Little _Menehune_ ," he said, picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom.

He laid her gently on the bed and got in next to her, attempting to draw her nearer.

"Don't even!" she said. "I am so not in the mood!"

He ignored her. She scooted further over, her back to him. He moved closer, and pushing her hair aside, began kissing her neck. She rolled over to face him. "Damnit! Why the hell do you have to be so dammed irresistible?" she said, kissing him back.

"Because I'm hopelessly in love with this strange little silver haired woman with those huge green eyes," he said.

"I'm still not in the mood," she said as she snuggled closer.

"You don't have to be. I don't like seeing you upset."

She loved the way his body felt against hers, his long lean frame a direct contrast to her short curvy one. When he held her, she could sleep securely and without the fear of the nightmares that had haunted her since Desert Storm. When the nightmares did come, he was there, speaking to her in a soft deep voice like black velvet and smoky bourbon that cut through the fog of terror and calmed her fears. "That man scared me," she said. "I've never heard one person utter so much poison at one time. All that nonsense has to do is fall into of the ear of some fundamentalist whose sole knowledge of the King James Bible is one badly translated verse from Exodus. Could you just hold me? That's all, just hold me."

"For as long as you want, my Little _Menehune_." He kissed her softly and turned out the light.


	3. Chapter 3

It was pouring rain the next morning and traffic had been awful. McGarrett made it to work to find Che waiting for him.

"I don't suppose our killer left a signed confession with his name and address on it lying around at the crime scene?" Steve asked. "Where's the coffee?" Not only did Maggie not drink coffee, she didn't know how to make it, either. He considered that her one flaw.

"Same place it always is," Jenny said, testily. The phone had been ringing since she got in. Thanks to Sheriff Murphy she now knew more about pagans and Wiccans than she'd ever wanted to know. The calls had ranged from polite and informative to threats of hexes, curses, and litigation.

Steve poured a mug of black Kona coffee and motioned for everyone to join him in his office. "What have we got so far?" he asked, downing half the cup in one go.

"No murder weapons found at the scene," said Che. "And believe me for this one we looked. The bullets came from a .22 caliber, probably a handgun. No shell casings were found at the scene so apparently our shooter cleaned up after themself. The bullets are soft nose short rounds, not the high velocity type. Chances are none of the neighbors heard the shots. I'm going to speculate that the knife was about half an inch wide and between four and seven inches long, with a very thin and very sharp blade, probably a filleting knife of some sort. The blunt force trauma was caused by repeated blows from a hammer. The best I can do for that is any carpenters hammer available at hardware stores everywhere."

"What about the rest of the stuff, the white powder used to make the circle?"

"Lineman's chalk, the same stuff used to mark off lines on ballparks and soccer fields all over the Islands. Available at all sporting goods stores and there was half a bag of it in the hall closet. The stuff in the cauldron was a little odd. Desert White Sage on a lit charcoal sitting on a bed of beach sand."

"Desert White Sage?" Steve asked. "In Honolulu? That shouldn't be hard to trace."

"Harder than you'd think. It's sold in every metaphysical shop in the area and available in catalogs from various supply houses."

"Speaking of which, Chin, what'd you find?"

"More crazies than I ever knew existed. At least they're the harmless kind. The only thing I learned that I didn't know already is that one of these blue moons only occurs every three years. What happens is you get two full moons in the same month. It's calculated by the same twenty-eight day lunar cycle that all the other moon phases are. I suppose it's like a lunar leap year. Murphy has offended most of the community, and it seems with good reason. Everyone I've talked to says there's no such thing as a Wiccan death ritual. The ones I talked to also said the timing is dead wrong, pardon the pun, for any pagan ritual, including those performed by ritual magicians, who apparently, are a whole 'nother breed of loony." Chin had spent most of the previous day visiting the shops. It wasn't a chore he wanted to do again.

"That makes a no go at the shops," Steve said. "What'd you find out from the Kahuna's, Brudah," he asked Kono.

"Nuthing useful. The Kahuna's say they leave that kind of stuff to the haole's, as long as they don't bother them none. Every now an then they get a haole think he a Kahuna and try to mix in, only that don't last long. Hadn't even had none of them for a year or two."

"Danno, what'd you find out on the Hobson's?"

"Mr. Hobson was a retired Aeronautical engineer, worked for Grumman in San Diego until he took early retirement because of his wife's health. They moved here about six years ago. She passed away from cancer fourteen months back. No outstanding debts other than the usual credit card and mortgage. No wants or warrants or criminal record of any sort. The son Charles, Jr., was an Army vet, saw combat in the Gulf War, was going to school on the GI Bill and working as a security guard for a firm in the city. He was a physical education major and coached a pee-wee soccer team, which explains the lineman's chalk. The girl was Specialist Four Donna Bradley, a medic assigned to Trippler Army Hospital, originally from Canton, Ohio. She didn't have an ID because her purse was stolen at a club on Hotel Street Friday night. I've got the police report where she filed the complaint with HPD. She and Charles, Jr. had been dating about six months. Her name's not being released to the public by the Army until notification of next of kin. She was also member of the Ft Shafter Open Circle."

"That's about all we need, Murphy pulling some sort of dumb stunt on a military reservation." Steve said. "Okay, head out to Trippler, interview everyone she knew or worked with. Kono, you do the same with Junior."

"Want someone to go out to Shafter and ask about the Open Circle?" Chin asked.

"That won't be necessary. I've got someone coming in. Anything else?"

"Word has it that Sheriff Murphy wants search warrants for every metaphysical shop in his jurisdiction and the homes of known pagans. He wants to look for ritual weapons," Chin said. He'd seen enough ritual weapons the previous day to last a lifetime. Most of them appeared to have been made to be pretty, not practical. He'd seen sharper edges on butter knives. "Don't know what he's expecting to find, but according to everyone I spoke with there is no such thing as a ritual hammer."

"Or a ritual .22, either. That man needs to go read the Constitution," Steve said, finishing his coffee and getting up to fetch another. "At least we've got a place to start. Che, find me something, anything that points at a suspect."

"You got it. It may take a while. I've got a team going back over the house in case we missed anything the first time," the Chinese forensic officer said.

"You've got until tomorrow afternoon when we have to let that low rent Murph the Surf in on the fact the victims were shot execution style instead of being black magicked to death. I wonder how he's going to explain that one to the press. Now, who's got the crime scene photos?"

After the others had left Danny got the envelope with the photos from Jenny's desk and returned to Steve's office. "Here you go. Hey, doesn't Maggie belong to the Ft Shafter Open Circle?"

"Yes, she does. I wonder if she knew the girl." He spread the photos across his desk. Even in stark black and white they were still awful. "Get that blood splatter analyst the FBI has hanging out at the beach and put him to work. See if he can tell us anything about the killer."

"Gotcha. Are you going to get someone to look at those?"

"Yes, Maggie's going to take a look at the pictures. Danno, this isn't my idea, it was hers. I wanted to keep her as far away from this as I could. She heard Murphy's news conference last night. Needless to say, she was upset. I need a Wiccan to look at the photos and tell us what's going on. Might as well be one I know we can trust."

"Murphy isn't going to be happy about this."

"Murphy can kiss my Irish ass." Steve said. Stifling a laugh, Danny headed out the office.

The door had hardly closed when Jenny rang through to tell him John Manicote was on line one. He picked up to phone to a very angry DA.

"That idiot is going to get this entire Island sued!" Manicote was angrier than he'd been in a long time. "I just spent over an hour trying to explain the concept of probable cause to that actor. Do you know what he wants to do?"

"According to my sources, raid every metaphysical shop and the home of every known pagan on the Island. Don't tell me he wanted search warrants?"

"Search warrants were just the beginning. He also wanted cease and desist orders for all pagan or Wiccan activities. Apparently the First and Fourth Amendments are a foreign concept to our esteemed sheriff. Tell me you've got some sort of a lead that makes sense," Manicote said, still aggravated from prolonged exposure to Murphy.

"Doc says the cause of death were gunshot wounds behind the ear of all three of the victims," McGarrett said. "He's sitting on that info until tomorrow afternoon, then we're going to have to share it with Murphy, like it or not. Che's got a team going over the house again, and we've got positive ID's on all the victims now. I've got a Wiccan coming in at eleven to look at the crime scene photos. She'll confirm that there's no such thing as a 'Wiccan Death Ritual'."

"Steve, this morning my office has received calls threatening everything from lawsuits to hexes. Where'd you find a Wiccan who isn't so offended they won't talk to us or isn't one of the airy-fairy hippie types spouting off about rainbows and unicorns?"

"It's not that difficult if you know where to look. Want to sit in on the meeting?"

"That's the most logical suggestion I've heard all morning. Think I'll drag Murphy along. He needs to have his paradigms shifted."

"See you at eleven then." He hung up the phone, finished his coffee, and went for third cup. _Cut back on the caffeine, Doc said. Ha! Let him do this job for a few hours and say that!_

* * *

Manicote arrived a few minutes before eleven, taking advantage of a break in the rainy weather to walk from his office to Iolani Palace. Sheriff Murphy arrived with his usual cadre of aides and his personal photographer, who looked as if he was ready to assassinate someone. Maggie had called earlier to let Steve know she had got caught in traffic and was running a bit late.

"McGarrett, so nice to see you again," Murphy said, smiling, giving everyone a wall to wall view of the most expensive veneers available. "I see your office hasn't changed since the last time I was here."

"We're too busy to re-decorate," Steve said, testily, noting that Murphy had ditched the blue contacts.

Jenny brought in coffee. Murphy asked for decaf and hazelnut creamer.

"I don't think there's any decaf in the building," Jenny said, incredulously, "I'll see if I can find you some hazelnut creamer." She exited without making eye contact with anyone, for fear of breaking out in a bad case of the giggles.

"Okay, McGarrett," Murphy said, "where's your witchcraft expert?"

"Sgt Alden will be here soon. She got caught in traffic."

"Sergeant? Is she with HPD?" Murphy demanded.

"No," Maggie said, entering the office, "United States Army."

Steve smiled as she entered the room, as always admiring the way the tailored uniform fit her soft curves. She was wearing her class A skirt uniform, complete with every ribbon she'd ever earned. He suspected Murphy was clueless as to the meaning of any of the ribbons, badges, or patches she wore on the dark green jacket.

"John, you remember Sgt Alden. You met at that press conference a few months back when we brought in Waldrop."

"Good to see you again, Sergeant," Manicote said, shaking her hand. "I've been following your articles on women in the military for some time now. I have found them very informative."

"Thank you, sir," Maggie said. "I hope there are a few people at the Pentagon doing the same."

Murphy was looking at Maggie with the same predatory gleam in his eye that he gave to every women he ever met, assuming they were all just seconds from falling for his charm and into his bed. Steve wanted to punch him. Instead he introduced Maggie. "Sheriff Murphy, this is Sergeant First Class Margaret Alden. She's stationed out at Ft Shafter and writes for the _Stars and Stripes_. She's Wiccan and she's here to help us."

"You're a Wiccan?" Murphy asked. "No way! You don't look like one of those freaks." He fluffed his highlighted blonde hairdo in a way that he thought was appealing to the opposite sex but put Maggie in mind of an orangutan scratching its head. She quickly gave a short mental apology to all orangutans for that thought. Maggie's eyes met Steve's. No wonder his blood pressure was up if he had to deal with people like Murphy on a regular basis.

"Really?" she said, in the even, almost motherly tone that every misbehaving junior enlisted soldier who had the misfortune of having it directed at them had come to dread, "and what are we suppose to look like? If you were expecting a green face and crooked nose with warts on, you're out of luck. Yes, I am Wiccan. I've been a practitioner for almost twenty years now. This may come as a shock to you, but there are a lot of us in the military. We're not a bunch of flakes or freaks, we have jobs and families, and contrary to the misinformation that's being reported on the news, there is no such thing as a Wiccan Death Ritual and we certainly don't murder people." She was trying to stay calm. It wasn't working.

"Sergeant," Steve said in the calm and gentle tone that always managed to reassure her and chase away the nightmares. She was like a small and compact grenade, safe as long as the pin was in place. He wondered how long it'd take Murphy to pull it. "I've got the crime scene photos when you're ready to have a look at them." He took the photos out of the envelope and passed them to her.

Even in black and white there was no mistaking the amount of blood on the walls and soaked into the carpets. She gave them a careful look. "The pentacles are wrong. Nowhere in Wicca do we use an upside down pentacle. Plus ours are always circled. Circles represent infinity, the divine whole. These are just upside down stars."

"They're drawn with the victim's blood," Murphy insisted.

"No," Steve said, "they're drawn _in_ the victims' blood. There is a difference. The lab report says they were hand drawn in the blood splatter. Unfortunately whoever did it didn't leave usable fingerprints or DNA."

"Wiccans and Witches," Maggie said, "are firm believers in balance. When it comes to Circle casting we can be downright obsessive about it. This isn't balanced at all. The bodies aren't laid out in any kind of order. The candles are all wrong. There should be one at each of the compass points and there aren't any. There's no alter set up, just a cauldron. What was in the cauldron?"

"Desert White Sage on a burning charcoal sitting on a bed of white sand," Steve said.

"Desert White Sage is used to dispel negative energy and for cleansing ritual areas. No way would it have been used in anything this violent. What's the white circle around the bodies?"

"Lineman's chalk, the kind used on sports fields," Steve said.

"That's not used in any ritual that I know of."

"Then just what do you know about rituals, Sergeant?" Murphy asked. He didn't like being told he was wrong by anyone. "Are you telling me this isn't witchcraft?"

"What I'm telling you, Sheriff," Maggie said, her drawl thickening as it always did when she was getting angry or upset, "is this was not done by Wiccans or Witches or Kahunas or Pagans or Voodouans, or Santeria's or any other member of the metaphysical community. If anything, this looks like a psycho with a grudge. These people were not killed in some bizarre death ritual, but thanks to your misinformation, you've managed to convince a lot of people that they were and perpetuate a myth that's only going to cause more harm. I've never heard so much ignorance coming from one man in my entire life.

"Maggie, honey," Steve said, coming around the desk to stand behind her. "Calm down."

"No! I am not calming down! This is the kind of ignorance that only breeds more ignorance! He needs to make a retraction before someone gets hurt! He needs to read a copy of the Wiccan Rede!"

"What's the Wiccan Rede?" Murphy asked. "Is that your instruction book for ritual murder?"

"No, you twit! It's the rules we try to live by. I could recite the whole thing, only I doubt you'd listen and the words would go right over your head, since you obviously don't want them in it! I'll summarize for you. Give you the Cliff notes version in four words: If it harm none! Try living up to that! You've caused more harm with your moronic statements in the past twenty four hours than Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson have managed to do in the last decade!"

Manicote was trying to hide a grin. The small Army sergeant was tearing into the surf boy wannabe sheriff like a tiny and intense tornado, and the sheriff didn't have sense enough to back down.

"Sorry," he said. "I stand by my original statement. The murders were done in a witchcraft ritual. Manicote, I still want those warrants. By the way, Sarge," he said sarcastically, "Where were you Tuesday night."

"I was at home, Sheriff, if that's any of your business, which it isn't!"

"Really? Got a witness?"

"Yes, she does," said Steve, glaring at the sheriff.

"One willing to testify to that in court?" Murphy asked, not knowing how thin the ice he was treading on was.

"Whenever you're ready." Steve said, laying both hands protectively on Maggie's shoulders.

"Sheriff," said Manicote, "get this through your head. You don't have probable cause to search anything. Nor is anyone going to issue a cease and desist order against any Wiccan or pagan activity. There isn't a judge on this Island who's going to sign one. You got that? This isn't a TV show you can wrap up in forty five minutes plus commercials. This is real life. It doesn't come with a script!"

"I'm shutting down the witchcraft nonsense in Honolulu right now," Murphy continued, oblivious to common sense and probable cause. "With or without your help and I don't care if you like it or not, Manicote. That goes for you too, McGarrett. I'll have the whole coven in jail by the end of the week. Mark my words." He stalked out of the office and out of the building, giving them a glimpse of what he thought was his best professional swagger.

"Is he for real?" Maggie asked, leaning back against Steve. He embraced her from behind, holding her tight until her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to normal.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Manicote. "He has the conviction of the truly self righteously ignorant." He glanced at his watch. "Sgt Alden, I've got a lunch meeting, but before I have to leave, could you give me a brief definition of what a Wiccan is?"

"I can try. And please call me Maggie. I will give you my definition, but if you ask a hundred Wiccans or pagans you'll get a hundred different answers. Mine is that I believe that out there in the cosmos there are both a God and a Goddess who make up the two halves of the divine Whole and you can't have one without the other," she said, her voice softening as it always did when she was trying to explain her faith. "God or Goddess or whatever you want to call the Infinite Divine, does it really matter? Say a prayer or chant a spell, it's all going to the same source. Most of us try to keep track of time by using the old calendar, by dividing the year up into eight Sabbats, and the usual twelve esabbats, or full moons. What your boy Murphy missed entirely is that this blue moon coming up is also on Lughnasadh, or the celebration of the first harvest. Its one of the cross quarter days halfway between the Summer Solstice and the Autumn Equinox." She suddenly blushed, her face reddening to the roots of her silver hair. "I'm sorry. I'm running on. If you'd like, leave me your email address and I can forward the information to you. That way I won't keep you from your meeting."

"Maggie, you've just given me a better perspective on Wicca than I've heard since Murphy decided to start this witch hunt. I appreciate your candor. Thank you." He fished a business card out of his pocket and took a pen from Steve's desk to write on the back of the card. "That's my personal email address. Put your name in the subject line so I'll know who it's from. It's been very nice to see you again."

"Same here, sir," Maggie said.

"I'll walk you out," Steve said, bending to kiss the top of Maggie's head.

"Well," Manicote said as they walked out into the Hawaiian sunshine. "I take it that's the little lady who's got you so enthralled?"

"She's the one."

"Is she? She is one very remarkable lady. Well spoken, intelligent, professional, and with a temper that matches yours. And she puts up with your crazy hours and stubborn hardheadedness?"

"So far."

"Then she's a keeper. I'll see you later." He left, smiling, wishing the little Army sergeant good luck.


	4. Chapter 4

McGarrett returned to his office to find Maggie sitting on his desk wearing a cream colored silk and lace camisole over a lacy bra with a front clasp, a cream lace and silk garter belt, stockings, a tiny pair of silk and lace bikini panties, and the opal pendant he'd brought her from Singapore.

"Does that door lock?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, smiling as he locked the door. This was certainly a first. "What exactly is it that you have in mind?"

"Doc says your blood pressure is still too high, probably because you're too tense. I thought I'd help you relax, see if I can lower it," she said smiling back. "Besides, can you think of a better way to dispel all the negative energy Murphy left behind?"

"Can't argue with that. I always wondered what you had on under that uniform," he said, crossing the room and taking her in his arms, his lips trailing down her neck as his hands found the hem of the camisole, the silk warm from the heat of her body. He pulled it up and over her head, dropping it to the floor. He unsnapped the clasp on her bra, freeing her breasts and nibbling them gently, his hands slowly moving down her body to the edge of those tiny lace panties. He could feel her heart beating faster and heard her breath come in soft sighs. He caressed the velvety smooth skin of her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his hips. "One second," he said. He reached over to the intercom. "Jenny, hold all my calls until further notice." There was a mirthful "Yes, Boss," from the speaker. He double checked to make sure the intercom was switched off.

"Now, where was I?" he asked, sliding the panties to the floor.

* * *

Danny and Kono returned from interviewing the people who knew and worked with the younger Hobson and his girlfriend. Danny was getting ready to knock on Steve's office door when Jenny stopped him.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," she said, smiling. She was part of the conspiracy to lower McGarrett's blood pressure. Doc had called her with the numbers, and then she'd called Maggie. The two of them had concocted what they called 'The Plan" which had included a pit stop at Victoria's Secret before Maggie stopped by to look at the crime scene photos.

"Why not? Has he got company?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, he does. Sgt Alden is visiting."

"Is she in uniform? That's the only time you call her sergeant."

Jenny giggled. "Probably not anymore. He said to hold all calls until further notice."

Kono nearly choked on the shaved ice he was eating. Danny glared at him.

"Don't give me 'dat look," Kono said. "He's still pissed 'bout catchin' me sneakin' out his house after 'dat party. Little Miss _Menehune_ got one wild sistah. 'Dat little redhead _wahine_ almost killed me."

 _Great,_ Danny thought, _I can't win_. _He sends Beverly to Quantico but he gets a nooner from his girlfriend in his office during lunch. I may have to shoot him._

* * *

Maggie left half an hour later, looking serene and professional in her neat uniform. Steve had kissed her good-by at the door, wearing an untucked tee shirt and with very tousled hair. Everyone in the office suddenly found lots of interesting things to look at on their desks and out windows. It was either that or give the man a standing ovation. Danny gave him fifteen minutes and knocked on the door. "You busy?" he asked.

"Come in." Steve was now wearing a shirt minus tie and had combed his hair. "What do you have?"

"Three people that no one has anything bad to say about, rare as that may be. It also leads up to zero motive." Danny said. "How'd it go with the sheriff?"

"Same as I expected. He refuses to listen to reason."

"Not much you can do about that. What did Maggie have to say about the crime scene photos?"

"She confirmed it wasn't a Wiccan ritual of any type. Then Murphy had the audacity to ask where she was Tuesday night."

"He thinks she's a suspect? He's more clueless that I thought," Danny said.

Jenny buzzed in with a call from Honolulu airport security. "Put it through," Steve said, wondering if one of the K-9 officers had found another shipment of illegal drugs. He listened for a minute. "Hold him. Don't let him or his luggage on that plane. We'll be there in fifteen minutes." He slammed down the phone.

"Danno, Kono, with me. One of the airport security dogs alerted to a bag about to go on a flight to the mainland. X-rays have turned up a gun, a knife, and what looks like a hammer. The bag belongs to one Horace Bradley from Canton, Ohio. I have a feeling we're going to owe that doggie a steak," he said, strapping on his sidearm. "Where the hell is my tie?" he asked, looking around. Danny spotted the innocent strip of dark blue silk on the floor part way under the desk. As he reached down to pick it up, he saw a frothy bit of cream colored silk and lace lying next to it. He handed both items to Steve, carefully preserving the memory of the look on his boss' face for the next time he felt blue.

* * *

Bradley didn't seem to upset for a man who'd just missed his flight back to the mainland. He sat at a small table, hands folded, staring off into the distance. Two security guards stood outside the door. One was Sgt. Hokaloni Seau, a tall and strikingly pretty woman of Samoan descent; the other was her partner, Dolly, a four year old Rhodesian Ridgeback. Dolly had made the original discovery when she had sniffed a small amount of gunpowder residue. She had done what she was trained to do, barked once and then sat and glared at the bag until it was taken off the conveyer and down to x-ray where the outline of a gun, a knife, and a hammer were found.

"We've got the suitcase in the security office, sir," Sgt Seau told the Five-O detectives. "I've already called the district attorney's office for a search warrant. I didn't want to risk opening it without one."

"Good work, Sergeant," Steve said, addressing Sgt Seau.

"Wasn't me, sir," she said, "it was Dolly. Best nose on the flight line. Isn't that right, girl?" she said, leaning down to scratch Dolly's ears.

"Good job, Dolly," Steve said, giving Dolly a pat on the head. Dolly looked up at him with eyes more intelligent than any animal should possess. "Kono, get that case to the lab. Call the DA and have the warrant sent directly there."

"On my way. Sergeant, dat's one very nice poi dog. You got a number where I can reach you; I'd sure like to find out more about them pretty red dogs."

To the surprise of both Steve and Danny, Sgt Seau gave Kono her card, her personal cell phone number written in green ink on the back. Then the big Hawaiian sauntered off to confiscate the suitcase, whistling as he did.

Bradley, as it turned out, was very talkative, even after he'd been advised of his right to remain silent. It took Steve and Danny about three minutes to know that Bradley was so far beyond the sanity curve that he'd lost trajectory. He belonged to some sort of odd group that perceived all women as tools of Satan, especially those who disobeyed their fathers and did things like join the Army and leave home, leaving dear old dad with no one to clean his house and serve his meals when he got tired of preaching to his fundamentalist congregation about the evils of Eve and original sin. He helpfully pointed out that Eve and evil were synonymous and that the old serpent Satan was everywhere, as could be easily witnessed by the presence of the abomination in the uniform standing outside the door holding the leash of that hellhound.

"Wait a minute," Steve said, holding up a hand, "was Donna Bradley your daughter?"

"I disowned her! She was no daughter of mine! She was an abomination! She was a harlot and the daughter of a harlot! Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!"

"Mr. Bradley," Steve said trying to keep an even tone, "are you telling me you killed your daughter?"

"No, I didn't kill her! I executed her. Her and her evil followers. All of them. Oh, yes, I executed them! Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live! It's in the Bible! _A man, also, or a woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a witch or a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall stone them with stones: their blood shall be upon them_. Oh, yes, their blood shall be upon them! I knew she was at that hospital. There's no faith there, only the witchcraft they call medicine. Only spells and potions that are an abomination in the eyes of god. From there I followed her to that den of iniquity. Oh, yes, I did, followed her and when she came to the door she was so shocked she couldn't speak. Then she demanded that I leave. But I had a gun, because those who don't obey the will of god willingly must be forced to. I made her tie the old man up, oh, yes, tied with strong cords! Then I tied her up, with her hands behind her back like the filthy pig of a harlot she was. I waited until the other came home, that, that warlock! I waited by the door and when he came in I shot him in the head. He fell like Lucifer falling from heaven, cast out like the demon that he was. The other two knew, oh, yes, they knew their day of judgment was upon them! You should have heard them, begging for their lives, praying to their false gods to save them! I shot them, too, shot them and then cut their throats to spill their blood upon the ground as an act of contrition, to cleanse their souls of evil. I tried to find a stone, to stone them, only there were none. Instead I found a hammer. I would be the hammer of god! Oh, yes, the Hammer of God! Great will be my reward, for there are many mansions in my father's house."

Steve sat there, listening. This was madness distilled down to its purest level. "You know, Danno, sometimes these things are solved through pure dumb luck. Thank you, Mr. Bradley. Danno, cuff him to something secure. I'm going to call Queens Hospital and have them send down a couple of people from the psyche unit."

Danny cuffed Bradley to the table. "Are you going to give us any trouble, Mr. Bradley?" he asked.

"Trouble for the police? Of course not! You're only doing your job."

* * *

Manticote personally delivered the warrant to search Bradley's suitcase to the forensics lab. Che opened the battered Samsonite case and removed a Ruger .22 caliber Mark III target pistol that smelled of burnt gunpowder from being recently fired, a seven inch filleting knife, and a craftsman hammer, both with what appeared to be bloodstains on the handles. A quick test confirmed that the bullets from the .22 matched the ones found in the bodies.

"Looks like we've got this one wrapped up," Manicote said. "I see you had Bradley committed to the psyche unit at Queens. Do you have any idea when I will be able to talk to him?"

"If you're lucky, never. Ten minutes with him were about all I could stand."

"That bad?"

"I'd say worse. I think I'll let you break the news to Murphy that he's been upstaged by a dog," Steve said, patting Manicote on the back as he left the lab.


	5. Chapter 5

McGarrett went back to his office to tackle the mounds of paperwork that sprang up like mushrooms after a summer rain. Jenny would come in from time to time to replenish the stacks and occasionally bring in a fresh mug of coffee. She set the latest cup on his desk and handed him a computer printout from Quantico.

"You did a good thing when you sent that girl to Quantico for training," Jenny said. "She's consistently either first or second in her class. Not bad for girl with no college experience."

"She just needed a chance," Steve said, looking over the printout of Beverly Patterson's latest grades. "I don't know who she's more afraid of disappointing, me, Danno, or Maggie and the rest of you Rose Warriors."

"With grades like these she's not going to disappoint anyone." Jenny said. "There's a seminar on cyber crime at Quantico next week. The FBI sent an invitation. You want to go?"

"Not if I can avoid it. Tell Danno to start packing. That's more his area than mine." Jenny left to inform Danny of his next assignment. There was a happy whoop from the outer office, followed by Danny sticking his head in the door, looking extremely happy.

"Thanks, Steve," he said. "Since I'm not on call this weekend, I'm flying out of here in the morning. Tonight if there's a seat on the redeye. I had no idea I was going to miss that girl so much."

"Woman," Steve said.

Danny gave him a confused look. "Woman?"

"She's a woman, not a girl. You wouldn't call a man who's been through a war a boy; you shouldn't call a woman who's been through a war a girl. Unless it's in private," he said, smiling at his second in command.

"You're right," Danny said after a thoughtful moment. "Definitely a woman. You got anything planned with Maggie for this weekend?"

"It's a blue moon and Lughnasadh. I've never been to a Wiccan service. I think it's time I went."

"Moonlight and magic, sounds like a good combination to me. You only get a blue moon every three years. May as well enjoy it while it's shining. If you don't need me for anything else, I'm out of here."

"Check with Jenny about getting the flight booked before you go. Enjoy the trip," Steve said as Danny left.

He finished the paperwork that was in the 'in' box, dropped another stack into the 'out' box, gathered up a few more to take home for perusal later on that weekend, and left the office before five, leaving Kono to lock up. Once in a blue moon, well, maybe it was time. He had a very important errand to run before he went home.

* * *

The blue moon rose over the ocean, full and round and not blue at all. Steve stood in the shadows and watched as the Circle was cast. Maggie, acting as maiden, held a crystal bowl of water taken from the surf. A young male Marine held an incense burner filled with sandalwood and sage. They walked the perimeter of the circle, stopping at each of the compass points.

"With earth and water and with fire and air we do cleanse and charge the East." They intoned starting in the East, then South, then West, then North, until the Circle was complete. It was a ritual as old as time and as ancient as the moon that shone above the ocean.

And then the magic happened. The priest began to recite the Charge of the Goddess.

"Hear ye the words of the Great Mother, She who of old was called among men, Isis, Astarte, Dione, Melusine, Arionrhod, and by a thousand other names."

And then Maggie answered in her clear drawling voice: "Whenever ye have need of anything, once in the month, and better it be when the moon is full, then shall you assemble in some secret place, and adore the spirit of me, who am queen of all heaven and earth..."

 _She is magic_ , he thought, _magic and moonlight and love and laughter_. He watched as the moon shone down on her silver hair and the sound of the ocean brought a sense of calm to his soul he hadn't known was possible.

After the ritual was over, they walked on the beach, hand in hand.

"Maggie, sweetie," Steve said, finally. "The other stripe the Army's offering you, please, baby, don't take it. The Middle East is a tinderbox and it's only going to take the right spark to set it off. I can't stand the thought of you ever having to go back into a war zone again. The Army has had enough of your life. Don't give them any more."

Her dark green eyes met his storm blue ones. She'd never felt so connected to anyone before, not even to her late husband. There was something about the tall man standing beside her that defied all logic and reason. It was as if she'd known him for eternity, and all they'd had to do was wait until they found each other again. "Does it mean that much to you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "It took me a long time to find you. I don't want to ever risk losing you." He took a small box out of his jacket pocket. When he opened it, moonlight glittered on diamonds. "Marry me, my Little _Menehune_."

 _There should have been angels singing_ , he thought, _or bells ringing_. Instead there was just the sound of the surf and her soft reply.

"Yes."

(Pau)


End file.
